


Call to War

by maelpereji



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Creation, Gen, Pre-Fall, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:08:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28016742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maelpereji/pseuds/maelpereji
Summary: The sounds of song, of joy, are now forever buried beneath the deafening peal of an Archangel’s call to war.
Kudos: 1





	Call to War

**Author's Note:**

> This is a pre-Lucifer's Fall one-shot, written to a prompt on Tumblr - "any specific pre-fall memories Michael has of the host?" Also, just a quick note: for all I refer to the angels as a 'family', I'm slightly uncomfortable using this term. I believe the connections between celestial beings surpass that for which there exists any adequate human terminology, so familial terms are as close as we can get to describing that kind of bond.

Michael remembers song. 

The very sound of joy itself; a choir calling out the litany of endless gifts that reached every tendril and quark of Grace, with the promise of simple and unmarred paradise. A paradise of the kind words of any common _or_ ancient tongue, dialect, or lexis, could do no justice. 

There had been a time, however brief, when Heaven’s Host was not a unit designed for war - though the potential had always _been_ there, albeit not yet a necessity. They were at peace, all of them, and they existed but for the simple and unequivocal purpose of bearing witness to the magnitude of miracles that Creation was - and to praise _Him_.  
 **  
O _Praise_ beto the Creator!   
  
O _Love_ to He who brings Light!   
  
Let us bear witness to His Glory! **

A time not meant to last, but one in which altercation or rebellion had not existed to tarnish that which was; a brief passing when as brothers and sisters, they all had existed as one, understanding their places in the Universe as it unravelled, without _having_ to be guided to do so, without need of leadership despite rank.

But all of it, _all_ had broken as easily as night does - not gentle and cloaked, but _unstoppable_ and _suffocating_ ; the only darkness in a world made from light itself. They had fallen not to ruin, but to the monster that became known as **rebellion**. 

Michael still kindles the fissure that _broke_ all hope of reconciliation as he received his orders: to rally the armies, to lead the assault against the one whom had been named for the Morning itself - _brother_ , Morning Star - to call his siblings to arms, and to _b r e a k_ any remnant of **j o y** that the Host itself clung to, for there was **w a r** to be waged.

He became Michael: Heaven’s Flame, First Son, Soldier, Leader of the Angelic Hosts, Prince of Heaven’s armies, Defender of Divine glory.

Once, the Heavenly Host had not stood for _war_ , but family. Michael had not been charged with the responsibility of all that which paled in comparison to the loss of what no longer was. He had not been called Viceroy, or Warrior, but instead, simply, _brother_.

But the sounds of song, of _joy_ , were now forever buried beneath the _deafening peal_ of an Archangel’s call to **WAR**. 

Nowadays, there is no song to be heard in Heaven.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated.


End file.
